


Eucatastrophe

by AngstyDathomirians



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Leroux canon, Missing Scene, PotO Advent Calendar 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 10:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstyDathomirians/pseuds/AngstyDathomirians
Summary: “Then they opened their treasures and presented gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh…”





	Eucatastrophe

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the PotO Advent Calendar on Tumblr for Christmas 2018. I themed three drabbles on the three gifts of the Magi

_“Then they opened their treasures and presented gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh…”_

 

_Gold, for worship and adoration…_

“Erik, what is this?” Christine murmured, turning the small gold band over in her fingers in a kind of detached dread and fascination.

His misshapen mouth curved into a tentative smile, a feeble, caged hope finally released from decades of doubt. Christine withered slightly with the certainty that it would soon be dashed.

“It’s a ring, dear child,” he replied softly. She marveled, not for the first time, at how the same mouth could utter such gentle affection and the bitterest of curses.

“May I perhaps ask instead…what is it for?”

They were very near the surface now, but the gloom was still thick enough to reveal Erik’s shining eyes; the same shade as the ring, Christine noted. His bony fingers brushed the delicate object in her grasp, but their skin did not touch.

“It’s a present. A promise, if you may.” Now his skeletal grip closed, raising her hand slightly as if he intended to bring it to his cold, dead lips, but at the last moment he hesitated and released her, folding his hands behind his back once more. He seemed to stiffen, to harden, straightening to his full, rigid height. “I give you back your liberty, Christine, on condition that this ring is always on your finger. As long as you keep it, you will be protected against all danger and Erik will remain your friend. But – woe to you if you ever part with it, for Erik will have his revenge!”

Christine flinched as his melodic voice climbed in volume, culminating in a roar that was both terribly afraid and desperately angry. As he turned from her, seeming to crumple in on himself as if all his spirit had fled, she ran – up the flight of stairs, further into the light. In that moment, she cared not a whit for her former intent to return; he was too horrible, and she could no longer stand to lie to him.

At the top of the staircase, her dressing room in clear view, a sound drifted to her from below over her gasps for air – a choked, tremulous sob, full of inward-pointing knives she was certain she was not supposed to hear. She hesitated, and silently slipped the gold ring onto her finger.

 

_Frankincense, for blessing and anointment…_

His lips were cold, but softer than she expected, brushing the fresh bruise on her forehead with the utmost care.

In her numb thoughts, Christine could not help but wonder how often this gentle, considerate man would surface, and how often he would be swallowed up by the monster. Still, she could not regret her decision; Raoul and the Persian man and everyone above were safe, and despite everything, she believed Erik’s word. She was the only remaining one who could possibly suffer his wrath.

Or so she thought.

All at once, it was though someone had mortally wounded him. Collapsing at her feet, clutching at her dress, his skeletal frame shook with the force of his sobs. His tears, filled with equal parts joy and remorse, shattered whatever thin shell somehow still remained between herself and utter exhaustion, and she felt her own tears prickling.

_My husband_ , she realized, the full force of her desperate declaration crashing down. _My husband_.  

She knelt and wrapped his thin body in her arms, unable to keep her tears from trickling onto his mask. She wept for beloved Raoul, whom she would never see again, and for poor unhappy Erik, who had finally received what he wanted and was still utterly miserable.

She realized she had been whispering her thoughts to him, and hoped she had not offended him, but he choked and whipped off his mask, bony hands trembling as they instinctively moved towards his horrible face. Fearing he was about to harm himself again, she reached out and took his hands in hers. He shuddered, seemingly shocked.

“Christine-“

“It’s alright,” she soothed. “I’m not afraid.”

His fingers twitched in hers, and she released him; he fumbled in his waistcoat, producing, to her astonishment, the gold ring.

“What-“

“Take it,” he sobbed, pressing it into her hands. “Take it, for you and for him…it shall be your wedding present, from your poor Erik…I know you love the boy; don’t cry anymore!”

She froze, not even wiping her eyes. “What…what do you mean?”

“Go,” he said hoarsely. “Marry your vicomte. A living bride should have a living husband.”

“You’re…letting me go?”

“Dear child,” he whispered. “Sweet, kind woman. You were never mine to chain…or free.”

She pocketed the ring and held him a little closer, a strange, disbelieving reluctance rising within her – everything was happening too fast. “Erik,” she said thickly, “will you be alright?”

He rose on unsteady legs and helped her up. “Oh, Christine. Do not worry for your Erik. I have tasted heaven’s tears.” His touch was not quite as icy as before, his hands delicately folding over hers. “I will release your vicomte. If an angel can receive a blessing from an old devil…receive mine.”

 

_Myrrh, for burial and preservation…_

He was still alive.

She hadn’t expected him to be, hadn’t planned for it, but hurried to him before she even had time to think.

He was exactly where he said he would be, in his coffin by the well, slow, shallow breaths the only indicator he was still living. “Erik?” she whispered, fearing he was too far gone to hear her. His bony hand was freezing between hers. “Erik darling, it’s me.”

“Christine…” he murmured, his once-beautiful voice rough with disuse. “Sweet Christine, you are early…or I am dreaming…”

“It’s me,” she said again, kissing his icy fingers. “I’m here.”

The slitted golden eyes still shone with adoration. He tried to speak, and coughed, spattering his thin lips with red, and she squeezed his hand a little tighter. “I’m sorry,” she choked through the lump in her throat. “I never wanted this…”

“You…are not to blame…” he rasped. His gaze flicked to the delicate, diamond-studded ring on her finger, curiosity overshadowing the flash of disappointment. “You’re married,” he said softly.

The lingering joy bled through her voice as she smiled faintly. “Yes. For two weeks now.”

“Tell me more…”

“Most of Raoul’s associates frowned upon it, but he didn’t care. It was a small ceremony, but very beautiful.”

“And you are…happy?”

She rubbed her thumb over his cold knuckles, trying to warm them. “I am very happy.”

He nodded slightly, eyes closing briefly. “That is good. But you are happy…you are free…why did you come back?”

“Because I promised,” she said tenderly. “Because I love you.”

It did not matter so much anymore, which kind of love.

She gently disentangled her hand from his, reaching behind her to unclasp the fine chain hidden by her hair. The plain gold ring dangled from it. “I kept my promise. I never took it off.”

“Christine-“ he coughed. “I’m sorry-“

“I forgive you,” she soothed. “I have long since forgiven you.” She hesitated, then reached for his mask.

Even now, barely able to move, he weakly caught her hand. “You shouldn’t – you shouldn’t have to watch me die, Christine,” he said brokenly. “Not after your father.”

“That’s my choice,” she said quietly. “And I choose to stay.”

His resistance fell.

Christine wordlessly slipped off the mask, taking in the sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. She recalled the blessed Christ, healing the lepers with His touch, and prayed for that same power to take away Erik’s pain. Then, with no hesitation, she leaned down and kissed him, softly, chastely, on the pale forehead. She lingered for just a moment, and pulled back to see the remains of his last smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot to post this in December lol  
> follow me on Tumblr @ramblingsofachristiannerd
> 
> Comment to save the author's life


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